A Hound and a Bird
by Dracarys45
Summary: If the battle of Blackwater Bay had ended differently and Sansa had gone with the Hound. Rated M for mature content.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Sansa heard the deep voice, but did not fully understand the words.

"I'll take you north, girl." The words were low and gruff, clipped, like he had little time. "Back to your family."

Her heart jumped before she could stop it. A million thoughts flooded her head; the faces of Bran and Rickon, bickering by the fire, and Robb and Jon practicing their sword fighting. She saw Arya making faces before Septa Mordane could see. And she saw her mother, intricately braiding her hair to impress Joffrey, a thought that disgusted her now. She suppressed all the thoughts quickly before the Hound could see her emotions across her face.

"I can't," she said fervently, maybe she would be able to convince herself. "Stannis won't hurt me." She willed the words to be true. Besides, she couldn't imagine traveling with the Hound. Such a thing would be more than distasteful and inappropriate, a man of his age. And no matter how many times she told herself that he had saved her from being raped and killed, that she owed him her life, the Hound still terrified her.

"Look at me," the Hound fumed, his voice rising, He grabbed her face roughly, puling it up and Sansa was forced to look into his bloodshot eyes. He reeked of wine and the disfigurement of his face was twisted into an expression of fury.

"Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world was built by killers, so you'd better get used to looking at them."

Sansa could see behind his eyes for the briefest of moments, and all she saw was pain. A life built on pain and misery; it overwhelmed her with a curious sense of empathy. What had he been before he had become a dog?

In the blink of an eye, the moment had cleared and his expression had gone back to its usual stoic mask. He shoved her face away as if he'd been burned.

"Stay and die," he said, and it sounded final to the girl. Her mind was racing, could she get away from the capital with him? If they found her they'd kill her like they did her father, but if she stayed she would most likely die anyways. As if reading her mind, the Hound bellowed,

"By Joffrey's hand or those fucking rapers. It won't matter who does it in the end, you'll still be a dead bird." Sansa shuddered. The words were true, though she hated hearing them. The Hound turned towards the door, and Sansa made a high-pitched squeak.

"Wait," he turned back to her.

"If I go with you, you promise you'll take me to my family? You will protect me?"

"Aye."

"Alright." Her voice was very small, and the Hound hardly heard the word, though he knew she'd said it. He had never expected her to agree, and now she had. Through his drunkenness he struggled to comprehend what that would mean. "Let's go, then," he said, grabbing her arm urgently and pulling her towards the door. Startled, she pulled back.

"Wait," she cried. "What about my things?!"

"No things," he answered gruffly, picking her up and throwing her over his massive, ironclad shoulder, as he had when he'd rescued her. The last thing she saw as they fled her room was the beautiful doll her father had given her, sitting on her bedside table.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Sansa tried not to let tears fall from her eyes as the Hound roughly sat her on the back of Stranger's saddle. She tried to situate herself so that she was sitting sidesaddle-like a lady, but the Hound put one big metal paw on her leg.

"Ride that way and you'll fall off, girl." She looked at him with big, scared, blue eyes and he coughed and removed his hand. "I don't have time to keep picking little birds up off the ground," he added as he swung up into the saddle in front off her. Sansa flushed, remembering the time he had saved her, surely that was what he was referring to. Did he regret rescuing her from the rapers?

The Hound gently tapped the horse's sides and Stranger broke into a run, fleeing the stables. Alarmed, Sansa threw her arms around the dog's massive, iron torso before she fell.

He felt her arms around him and suppressed every thought, shaking his head slightly to clear it. _Damn the girl_, he thought to himself. _Damn her for saying yes and coming with me_. He remembered his hand on her thigh just moments ago and swore. A fucking child, what was wrong with him?

Stranger raced through the burning city at a dizzying speed, and Sansa closed her eyes and leaned her head against the Hound's back to regain her equilibrium. He felt her there, touching him, and he cursed the armor between them before he cursed himself for thinking it.

Before long, they had passed through the city gates and were on the King's road. The horse veered off the heavily-trodden road, favoring the forest. They raced through the trees and underbrush, sticks and leaves hitting them as they tore through the woods. A low hanging branch caught Sansa's cheek once, and she winced slightly, putting a hand to her face and feeling blood. They did not stop for hours, and when they did Stranger was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and breathing hard.

"There," the Hound said, the first time either of them had spoken since leaving the city. "That put a good distance between us and the fucking Red Keep."

The Hound lifted the girl to the ground but let go immediately, turning away. He knew he frightened her. She walked over to Stranger's neck and tentatively stroked it. The horse whirled its head around to bite her, but the Hound's hand grabbed her and yanked her back before he could.

"Are you mad, girl?" He fumed. "Don't go near that horse again. The fucker will bite you in half." Sansa nodded, and her eyes were full of fear. Fear of him, fear of the horse, he didn't know, probably both.

"I'm sorry, Ser," she said, but her voice was faint. The Hound blanched. He was about to yell at her to not call him Ser, but she collapsed, hardly giving him time to catch her before she hit the ground.

_The damned girl had passed out_, he thought to himself. She weighed nothing, and he gently put her in some soft grass. He saw the cut on her face and swore. When had that happened? What had he done, bringing her out here? _She's too fucking weak,_ he thought miserably.

He fell asleep to the sound of her steady breaths, barely a whisper in the night. In his dreams were bright blue eyes; staring at him with an expression he couldn't place. Trust? Couldn't be. He touched a hand cautiously to red hair; red like fire, though he wasn't afraid. Full lips parted slightly, and his breath caught. Out of the lips, came a piercing scream. The Hound jolted awake, his hand already at his sword. The girl was shaking next to him, her eyes still closed.

The Hound shook her shoulders until her eyes popped open with the look of a panicking animal.

"Girl, girl!" He said until her eyes focused on his scarred face and her shoulders slumped, though her body was still racked with shaking. Through the thin fabric of her dress, the Hound could feel that her skin was icy. Tears spilled from the bright blue eyes, bright even in the darkness, and the Hound sighed.

"What were you thinking of?" He asked gruffly and Sansa bit her lip. The sight made the Hound repress his need to touch her face, to stroke her hair as he'd dreamed. He cursed himself, but did not let go of her shoulders.

"My father," she sniffed, "and…Joffrey. The Queen. Ilyn Payne."

"Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the Queen. They can't hurt you now. You're safe, little bird."

Without entirely meaning to, Sansa curled herself into the Hound's side. He was warm, _like a dog_, she thought. She was too tired to concern herself with formalities and what was proper, and he was kind to her; as kind as he could be.

The Hound looked at the girl curled up against him in disbelief. He did not fool himself into thinking she somehow cared for him. Even still, he put one heavy arm around her, to make her feel safe and warm from her nightmares.

"Why did you save me?" Sansa asked sleepily after a long silence. She wasn't even sure if the Hound was still awake.

"What?" he asked groggily, his eyes closed.

"In Kings Landing," she clarified.

"It was my job," he answered tersely. Sansa closed her eyes and sighed, almost silently, but the Hound heard.

"Of course," she breathed, trying to pull out from beneath his arm. He didn't budge.

"It's not my job now, girl," he said, his eyes now open, the implications of his words weighing heavily in the air.

"Then why?" Sansa whispered. Silence permeated the air, and after a while, the Hound shut his eyes once more and mumbled gruffly,

"Go to sleep, little bird."

"My name is Sansa," she replied quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Sansa rode behind the Hound, her arms around the Hound's middle. She was weary from lack of sleep and her eyes fought to stay open.

"You can sleep if you want, little bird," he had seemed to read her mind.

"Sansa," she corrected him. He rolled his eyes and nodded. Satisfied, she said, "I can't sleep, what if I fall?

"You won't fall, li- Sansa. I won't let you fall," and he put one of his strong arms over hers. Sansa flushed. The gesture was practical, not tender, and yet she still felt heat rising to her cheeks, and she was surprised by how much she liked the sound of her name on his lips, instead of her nickname.

Her thoughts went to the morning, when she had woken up still curled into the Hound's side, and his eyes had been open, staring at her. She had jumped away in embarrassment, though he did not move. Maybe he was all right with touching her, holding her. He clearly had no qualms about touching women; surely he had had many. Her face enflamed more and she was sure she was as red as her hair, and she was glad he could not see her. She fervently put all this from her mind.

"Even still," she said in a small voice. "I'd like to stay awake. To talk with you; I should know more about the man I'm travelling with." She felt the Hound stiffen under her touch.

"No fucking talking," he barked, and moved his arm back to Stranger's reigns. She was sad when its pressure was gone, though she couldn't say why. His answer did not matter to her.

"Your real name is Sandor Clegane," she said, and it was not a question.

"What of it, girl," he growled menacingly. The little bird was in dangerous territory. He was not one to divulge his private information, and she was coming dangerously close to walking back to Winterfell. He tried to suppress his growing annoyance.

"Well," she started, "I think I should call you by your name."

"No." He answered with finality.

"I will not refer to you by Joffrey's cruel nickname, you are not a mad dog, you are-"

The Hound pulled on the reigns and Stranger jolted to a stop. He whirled around to face her. "I am what?!" He snarled in a manner so sinister, that Sansa knew she should be frightened. She was, she always had been, but she stared into his raging eyes defiantly.

"A man," she said, turning a little red but not lowering her eyes.

He saw a blush on her cheeks when she called him man, and without meaning to, his whole body hardened. He wanted her then, in his rage; wanted to fuck her there on the ground. Against his will, he imagined himself on top of her tiny naked body, holding her down while her singsong voice screamed for him. Agitated and hotter than he had been before, he turned away from her, so as not to have her eyes pierce into him any longer. His voice lost all malice and he tapped Stranger's sides again.

"I am the Hound. Call me that or nothing at all."

"No," she replied rebelliously. "I will call you by your name."

He didn't have time to work up a good rage again, because they were coming across a house, a farmer out front with his two small sons. He swore to himself.

"Do you have a hood?" he whispered through clenched teeth?

"No?" she replied, the word a question, as though she had no idea why he would ask that. He cursed again.

He intended to walk straight past the farm, without a glance to the man, but the man waved and greeted them, walking out into the road.

Stranger snarled, and Sansa thought he was more snake than horse.

"Hello there," he said with an inviting smile. Sansa smiled back at the man, but the Hound answered in a flat voice.

"We're just passing through, no need to stop your work."

"Nonsense," the man replied. "Of course you must be weary. Please, we'd be honored if you were our guests for a meal."

It was true, Sansa _was_ tired; they had been riding since dawn and it was already midday. Her legs and back were aching and her arms were sore from being locked around the Ho- Sandor. She made an effort to remember to call him that.

She beamed at the man, which he took to be an acceptance, and was already helping her down from the horse before the Hound could decline. He cursed Sansa, and followed her down from Stranger's back.

The man had made some kind of stew, accompanied by hard bread, and it was very good, the Hound reluctantly thought. Sansa sat next to him on the wooden bench at the farmer's table, looking beautiful and out of place. He wasn't sure if the farmer family could recognize her, but everyone in the seven kingdoms had heard of the Hound. It made him nervous.

"We're always glad for guests," the man said pleasantly to Sansa, and the Hound saw the girl smile back at him. He glowered. "That's why it was such a welcome surprise to see you and your…" he trailed off, looking at the Hound cautiously.

"My husband," Sansa said without missing a beat, putting her hand on the Hound's arm. He had to stop his mouth from hanging open; and instead he grunted in agreement.

"We're headed to Riverrun," she continued, the words sounding sure. The farmer nodded. His two young sons played on the floor.

"Where's the nearest inn?" The Hound barked, and the farmer looked at him with plain discomfort.

"Of course you should stay here", the farmer said warmly, looking back at Sansa. She beamed at him.

"No," the Hound snarled. Sansa's smile faltered.

"Please excuse my lord husband," she said apologetically. "What he meant to say is that it is very important that we travel as far as we can today, though your offer is greatly appreciated." The farmer looked reassured.

The Hound had to stop himself from rolling his eyes; the little bird, singing sweet songs.

"Of course," the farmer replied. "There is an inn a few miles north of here. You should make it before nightfall." Sansa smiled her appreciation.

When they had finished, they headed for the door.

"He knows who I am," she heard Sandor whisper. "So he knows who you are."

"He doesn't," she hissed back, but he had already whirled on the farmer, drawing his sword and bringing the hilt down hard on the farmer's head with an audible crack. The two boys on the floor screamed and huddled into a corner.

"Stop," Sansa shrieked, grabbing his sword arm before he brought the blade down on the man. "Don't kill him!" The Hound looked at her, truly looking like a mad dog.

"Dead mice don't squeak," he snarled, shaking her off.

"No!" she yelled, throwing herself in front of the unconscious man before the Hound could strike.

"Get out of the way girl!" he bellowed, pushing her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she grabbed the Hound's face, making him look her in the eyes.

"Please," she whispered softly, and the Hound could feel her warm breath blow into his face. He saw the tears on her cheeks, knowing it was him who put them there. Her blue eyes were pleading with him, and he knew he could not win against the damned girl. He lowered his arm and gently removed her hands from his face.

"Fuck it," the said hoarsely, swinging Sansa without warning over his shoulder. He bolted from the house, throwing Sansa onto Stranger, and then swinging into the saddle, kicking the horse's sides.

As Stranger ghosted through the forest at a dead sprint, Sansa's mind was fuzzy with what had just happened. Sandor would've killed the farmer without hesitation, but he hadn't. Why hadn't he? Surely it couldn't have been because of her.

They rode at a run for hours, making it to a small inn as it started getting dark, just as the farmer had said. When Sandor pulled the horse to a stop, he jumped down, tethered him to a post, and went inside without a word. Sansa carefully hopped down from Stranger's sweaty back. She found a tuft of sweet grass and carefully lay it in front of Stranger, far enough back that he couldn't bite her. His ears lay flat against his head as he saw her there, but when she moved, he cautiously found the grass she'd left for him and ate it. Sansa smiled slightly.

Sandor came back out to get her, and they entered the inn together, going up the stairs until they came to a locked room, which Sandor unlocked.

Sansa's stomach churned at the thought of sharing a room with him. She knew she'd slept closer to him than she had anyone in her life besides Arya, but something about him still terrified her; and something about a closed, locked door made it worse.

He pushed the door open and Sansa went inside, looking at the single bed. He saw that she was nervous, afraid even. Why shouldn't she be afraid of one room with a mad dog? He sighed.

"I told them to find you something new to wear; something with a hood. Get some sleep, little bird," he said tiredly, taking a few blankets from the bed and laying them out on the floor.

Sansa was ashamed for thinking that he would try to do anything inappropriate with her. He was a knight even if he said he wasn't, a man of honor. She rethought that. Honor, perhaps not, but he did what needed to be done and he protected her.

A warm feeling spread through her body and her cheeks rose red once more. She tried not to watch as he removed his armor, but it was hard. She had never seen him without metal covering him. He was still huge, his head almost touching the ceiling. His shoulders were wide and his back muscles were prominent, but he looked so different without any armor, more like a normal man. He seemed less frightening to her somehow. He lay down on his blankets and turned away from her. She quickly removed her dress so that she was in her underclothes and climbed under the blankets of the bed.

He could hear her taking her dress off, and it was all he could do to keep his head turned. His whole body felt drawn to her, it ached to move across the room. He cursed himself and balled his hands into fists, lying awake. He thought it was a dream when her small voice called his name.

"Sandor?" the word, his real name, was so sweet on her lips that he yearned to touch them, to run his thumb over them. His fists clenched tighter.

"What is it, Sansa?" he asked, his voice tired. She knew he'd used her real name to please her, and it had.

"The floor must be uncomfortable," her voice was timid, and she tried to strengthen it but to no avail. "You can use the bed as well if you…want." She trailed off, embarrassed, not knowing what had come over her.

Was she inviting him into her bed? Surely not in the way he was thinking. Surely she just wanted to lie next to a warm dog for comfort from the night. Silently, he rose from the floor and walked to the bed, carefully climbing in, so as not to touch her.

Her heart was audibly hammering, and she was sure he would be able to hear it. She felt him getting into the bed, and she was disappointed that he was so far away from her.

After a moment in silence, Sansa asked,

"Why didn't you kill that man?" Sandor sighed.

"Because you asked me not to. A bloody fool thing to do."

She ignored the last part, her whole body warming up in a strange way.

"You did it for me?" Sandor could barely hear her whisper.

"Aye," he replied, just as quiet. Another moment of silence followed, but then Sandor could hear rustling and then she was right there, curled into him once more.

This was different, she thought. He was not wearing his armor nor she her dress. She knew her mother would heavily disapprove, but for some reason she didn't care. The space between them felt electric, charged with energy, and she tried to get as close to him as she could, putting one hand very cautiously on his expansive chest.

He felt one of her delicate hands on his chest, and his breathing caught. _Like a fucking schoolboy,_ he thought to himself in annoyance, though he could not regulate his breaths. He put one massive arm around her, and she immediately snuggled into it. He felt guilty; this was a child, a woman technically, but a child to him. This was wrong, he knew it, but with her pressed up against him he could not force himself to move away. He carefully put his other hand on her tiny waist, and through her small clothes he could feel her enflamed skin, burning through the fabric. They were as close as two people could be.

"Have you had many women?" she asked, and her small voice was right next to his ear; he could feel her breath tickle his face and his breathing hitched, and his arm twitched with wanting.

"Enough," he replied. Her small hand found the burned side of his face and lightly caressed it, as no one had ever done before. He did not even have the sense to jerk away; he just lay there, letting her gently stroke his hideous face.

"It's very ugly isn't it," he said, his voice husky. "Not like your pretty knight of flowers."

"It's not," she replied, and she meant it. It wasn't ugly, it was sad. And the other half of his face was unmistakably handsome, if not always scowling.

He removed his hand from her waist and caught the one that was still on his face. He lightly kissed the palm, and Sansa struggled for breath.

"Do you want me?" she asked, barely managing to get the words out.

"Yes," he replied against her palm.

"And will you take me?"

He stroked her face once, savoring its smoothness.

"Not until you want me to," he said softly. Somewhere inside Sansa, her emotions battled between disappointment and being relieved. She nuzzled her face into his neck and he replaced his hand on her waist, pulling her closer still.

She fell asleep to the sound of his ragged breaths and the scent of sweat and something distinctly male.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

He woke before dawn, looking at the girl. She was tangled in blankets, curled into his side like a baby bird. The sight of her made the corner of his mouth twitch upwards imperceptibly; her hair swirled around her like a mane, and her peaceful, angelic face. She was too beautiful, he realized. She was beautiful and a _lady_. Whatever had transpired between them he had surely made up in his own, perverted head. She could never feel anything for him; he was the thing that haunted her nightmares. He moved from the bed quickly, but in a manner that would not wake her and put on his armor. He felt better with it on, more secure.

Sansa rose to the sound of metal clanking against metal. She saw Sandor armoring himself and she wondered if she had made up the whole thing in her head. The bed smelled of him, so she decided it couldn't have been imagined. She had had no nightmares either; surely he had warded off all of her unwelcome dreams. She blushed at the thought of how close they had been, of what they had…discussed.

He saw her wake, saw the blush heat her cheeks as she wrestled with some internal struggle. She bit her lip and the sight nearly drove Sandor mad. He turned away from her, hearing her as she got up. Fabric rustled and he knew she would be putting on the damned dress again.

"We need to leave," he barked, his back still turned to her. She was surprised by his coldness; he had been so gentle last night.

"Why so soon?" she asked, lacing up her dress.

"That damned farmer I let live will have told someone where we were headed by now." His tone was accusatory, and Sansa was stung by the harshness.

"Why are you talking to me like this?" she asked, and he whirled.

"Like what?" he growled menacingly.

Sansa's voice hardened, the back of her neck prickling in irritation. She'd had enough of his ridiculous mood swings; she'd had enough of his cavalier attitude. She was a highborn lady, and she would be treated with respect.

"Like a dog," she spat defiantly.

"Because that's what I am, girl," he snarled, his face inches from hers. He grabbed her arm so hard she knew it would bruise and dragged her out of the room and down the stairs. A black cloak was waiting for them on a table, and the Hound snatched it and hurled it at her.

"Put it on. Maybe this time you won't be so fucking recognizable."

Stranger was waiting out front for them, and the Hound swung Sansa into the saddle before climbing up himself. He waited for the pressure of her arms around him to come, but it did not. He looked back at her and her arms were crossed tight across her chest, her faced turned sideways, nose in the air. The Hound snarled. He had no time for her girlish games. He pulled her arms apart without any trouble, though he could feel her shaking with the exertion of resisting as hard as she could. He forced her arms around his torso and held them there as he gave the horse a slight kick.

Sansa fumed silently for hours; all day, in fact. They reached another inn a bit after nightfall and the routine was the same. Sandor tethered Stranger to a post and went inside the little, dingy establishment. Sansa found some sweet grass and hay and put it by Stranger to eat. This night he still made an angry noise, but his ears did not flatten against his head. This seemed like progress to Sansa. Sandor then came to fetch her and they found their single room. He locked and barred the door, and then turned to Sansa, whom had her arms crossed tight once again. He walked over to where she stood and tried to pull her arms apart, but she ducked away from him.

"Do not dare to touch me so familiar, Ser," she spat at him with all the malice she could muster. How dare he treat her with such disrespect, travelling her around the countryside like a sack of potatoes instead of the lady of Winterfell.

The Hound froze, staring at her. She had never used such a tone before, not even when discussing Joffrey, the little shit. Could she possibly hate him more than she had hated the boy king? He knew deep down that her hating him was the best thing for both of them, but the idea of her always wearing this look of disdain infuriated him. He advanced on her, grabbing her wrist. She made a tiny noise of pain, and the Hound stopped. He pulled back her sleeve to see the angry reddish-purple imprint of a hand, wrapping around her wrist- his handprint. His anger drained away immediately.

Sansa was glaring at him, trying to portray all of her loathing and spite into that one look. He looked into her angry blue eyes with an expression that startled her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, dropping her wrist and moving away from her. She was shocked; she'd never heard Sandor Clegane apologize before.

"Why are you acting in such a manner?" she asked, her tone losing all of the anger she had tried to summon. He made no move to respond. "If I've done something to offend you, you must tell me," she demanded. He dragged on large hand across his face.

"You cannot offend me. You are a lady," he started, voice softer than she'd ever heard. "You will marry some pretty lord and have highborn children. You cannot care for me in any way, girl."

His meaning was clear; he did not want her. The realization stung, and she understood now that everything he'd said the night before to her had been lies. He did not care for her, did not even really tolerate her. Her girlish infatuation had been ridiculous and now he had put an end to it. Heat rose to her cheeks.

"I understand," she said. "You are disgusted by me. You do not want me. Trust me, you have made yourself very clear." She turned away from him.

He heard her say the words but he did not believe them. She thought she disgusted him, that he did not want her? How could she? She was all he wanted, and all he could not have.

Sansa heard him groan like a man being tortured.

"Fuck this," she heard him snarl, and then big hands were turning her back towards him. His lips crashed down on hers before she had time to think. For a moment she was stunned. His lips were warm and hard, and cautiously, she leaned into the kiss, moving her lips against his.

After a moment, Sansa pulled away and Sandor knew he had made the wrong choice. He cursed himself and attempted to move away.

"Don't," she whispered, staring into his guarded eyes, running a hand down the un-scarred side of his face. He closed his eyes at her soft touch, light as a feather. They opened when she stopped, and he found himself looking into her bright blue eyes. Very slowly, she brought her lips back to his, standing on her toes to reach.

Sandor held her, cradling her face gently and putting his other arm around her waist, fusing them together. He held her as he would hold glass, afraid it might slip away from him.

Her lips were soft and gentle- curious. He knew he had to be careful with her, not frighten her again. He pulled away after another moment and looked down at her. She bit her lip before timidly smiling up at him, and he felt a pang of guilt that anything that beautiful should look at him that way.

Sandor stepped away and cleared his throat.

"Get some sleep," he said gruffly, starting to remove his armor. She turned her back to him and removed her cloak and dress. When she had, she slid under the blankets. Sandor finished removing his armor, he turned to look at her, and he could see her face in the dimly lit room with an expression that was an invitation. Without asking, he walked to the bed and climbed in next to her, finding her small form in the darkness. He pulled her close to him and gently kissed the top of her head, hearing her sigh.

"You cannot continue to treat me differently all the time, it confuses me," she said in a small voice. "I can't understand if you hate me or want me."

"This is fucked up," Sandor said in a tortured voice, running a hand over his face, and Sansa propped herself up on her elbow. She dragged his hand from his face and held it in both of her tiny ones, looking into his eyes.

"Why?" she asked.

"It can't last, Sansa," he said. "Before long, you'll be back at Winterfell with your family. Do you think they'd allow you to even be alone with me, then? No. You'll have no time for an old dog, then." Sansa was shocked.

"Do you really think I would abandon you without a thought? You were the only one who was kind to me in Kings Landing. Do you think I go around kissing many men? I'm not some whore."

Her words made him angry; he hated the idea of any man touching her more than he hated himself for touching her.

"I know, little bird. I know that," he responded gruffly, stroking her hair in the darkness with his free hand.

After a moment, he asked, "are you still frightened by me?"

Sansa brought his rough, calloused palm to her lips, pressing them against it, and Sandor closed his eyes.

"Sometimes," she said.

"That's good," he whispered.

"But not for the reasons you think," she whispered against his hand so softly that he couldn't hear it.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Days passed in this fashion; riding all day until they made it to an inn to stay for the night. Each night Sandor would hold Sansa, feeling her breath and listening to her talk in her sleep, and he grew more and more anxious about what would happen when they would finally reach Winterfell.

After a fortnight, they reached the Crossroads Inn, and were able to bathe and have a proper meal. After they'd eaten, they found their room. Sansa had been quiet all day, and Sandor assumed she was missing her family or something of the like. He had no mind for understanding women.

Once he had locked the door, he began undoing the straps of his armor. Sansa inhaled deeply and began removing her dress and cloak, fumbling at the laces with shaking fingers. When they slid to the floor and pooled around her, she removed the pin from her hair and shook it out until it hung in long waves down her back.

"Can I turn around?" Sandor asked, having not heard her get into bed yet, and Sansa took a deep breath.

"Yes," she replied.

He turned to see her only in her thin small clothes, which hung around her, hugging her curves. He could see through the thin white fabric that her nipples were hard and straining against the material.

_The damned girl is going to kill me,_ he thought to himself. Holding her in the night after she had already been in bed had been one thing, but seeing her now all but naked was doing dangerous things to him.

"Little bird, I can't," he gulped, struggling for words. He felt the straining against his breeches and knew he was in a treacherous place.

"Do you want me?" she asked, coming near him. She took one of his big hands and placed it against her heart. Sandor closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.

He moved his hand to rest on her face, and then trailed it down her neck, between her breasts, down her stomach and behind her waist, pulling her close. Sansa exhaled sharply and removed the cloth from her shoulders, and the rest of it fell away to the floor, leaving her naked.

Sandor stared at her, thinking that she was the most perfect woman he'd ever seen. She was tiny and thin, but her breasts were round and firm, the nipples erect. Her skin was smooth and milky, beautiful in the dim lighting of the room. She reached out and took Sandor's hand, placing it against her flat stomach. He groaned as he felt her perfect skin under his rough fingers, and his cock strained against his breeches. Slowly, with nervous footsteps, she led him over to the bed.

He gently pushed her down on the bed and got on top of her. He kissed down the side of her neck, sucking on her skin in ways that made her gasp. When he got to her collarbone, he bit down lightly and she cried out at the feeling. Smiling slightly, he took one of her perfect nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting lightly at it, and then at the other. She moaned and squirmed, satisfying him. He dragged his teeth down her stomach, stopping when he reached her bellybutton. His tongue danced around it, flicking in and making Sansa whine.

He brought his mouth back to hers and this time his lips were hard as stone, aggressive on hers. She matched his ferocity, curling her fingers in his hair. His tongue traced her bottom lip before entering her mouth. Their tongues danced together, and when Sandor moved his mouth from hers to her neck, she was gasping for breath and her chest was heaving. The sight of her tits rising and falling drove him mad, and he kneaded one roughly while sucking on the other.

"Are you sure?" He asked, breathing hard. "Think carefully, girl. You can't change your mind."

"I need you to do it," Sansa gasped and Sandor's cock strained harder against the fabric.

"There will be pain," he warned, though his voice was low and husky.

"I'm not afraid. Do it."

Sandor knew he had misjudged her; she was clearly not as weak as he had originally thought.

He quickly yanked his tunic over his head, throwing it in the corner of the room. Sansa had barely enough time to take in his massive form, covered in hair and scars before he had his breeches down and had positioned himself between her legs.

She was so wet for him that it drove him crazy. So slowly that it was agony for him, he pushed himself into her. Her arms were around his shoulders, and she cried out in pain, digging her nails into the skin of his back. He hardly felt it. She was so wet and tight, he knew this was the closest he would come to heaven. He pushed into her further until he was completely buried in her virgin cunt, and she screamed, her nails drawing blood.

Just as slowly as he had pushed into her, he slowly pulled out. He continued the slow process until she seemed to relax. He started getting faster and faster, and every time Sansa would moan a little louder. He could feel that she was getting close, and with a final thrust he spilled himself into her as she too released.

Sandor pulled the girl's limp body onto him and held her there. Her breathing was ragged and labored and Sandor could not help but smile slightly. He had really fucking claimed her now.

"The next time won't hurt as badly," he said, running a hand back and forth across her back. Sansa was relieved, the pain had been very bad, but she had been expecting it. She'd known having a man as large as Sandor would be painful the first time. She nodded and turned so she was looking into his eyes.

"Are you happy?" she asked him in a small voice, and his eyes softened. He touched his lips to hers softly before pulling the blankets around them.

"Sleep now, little bird," he said, kissing her once on the forehead.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Was he happy; that had been what she'd asked him. Sandor did not know truly what feeling happy was like, but holding the naked, red-haired girl felt as good as anything he had ever known. She was so small that his arms fit comfortably all the way around her, and she moved in her sleep to press closer to him. Probably liked the heat, he thought. That's all an old dog like him could ever offer a lady of Winterfell.

Sandor rose with the sun, waking to find the naked girl still curled against him. He'd had plenty of whores, but never a woman to truly want him, and never a lady of title. His mind went to the previous night-taking the girl's purity and without meaning to, he felt his cock harden. Sansa's wide blue eyes opened slowly, hazy with sleep. She looked into his eyes and he had to look away before his body controlled him.

Sansa looked herself over once in alarm, seeming to have forgotten the events of the night, but then she looked and Sandor's hulking nakedness and flushed a deep red, biting her lip.

"Seven hells, girl," Sandor groaned, feeling actual physical pain from resisting his urges. "Put some damn clothes on."

Tentatively, Sansa reached out and touched the Hound's huge cock, stroking it lightly. Sandor's breath caught and he snatched her hand, putting it around his erection and sliding it up and down vigorously. He made a gruff sound in the back of his throat and threw his head back into the mattress.

His reaction amused Sansa; she had no idea a woman had so much power over a man, and his response to her endeavors made her feel fire between her faintly throbbing thighs. While still pumping his enormous cock, she leaned over to kiss him cautiously. His response was aggressive, and he grabbed her hair, kissing her hard. Sansa was surprised but not displeased, and she quickly opened her mouth to feel his hot breath and tongue attack her.

He could feel himself falling apart under that damn girl's delicate fingers. Before he could, he roughly flipped her over so that she was trapped underneath him and guided his cock into her dripping pussy. The girl cried out in surprise, and her voice sounded hoarse from over use; he smiled at that.

Sandor was finished with the slow bullshit, though he was careful to still take her in a more gentle fashion than he wanted. He thrust into her as deep as he could, feeling her tighten and adjust to his size. He pumped in and out of her and soon the whole bed began to shake, groaning in protest. Sansa was moaning his name, and the sounds she made drove him wild. He licked and bit down her body everywhere his mouth could reach. The girl screamed in her pleasure and Sandor felt her come undone, and he came, spilling his seed inside her.

"We need to go little bird," he said after a few silent minutes, holding the girl tightly to his sweaty body, though she didn't mind.

"Do we have to?" she whined, and Sandor almost smiled, remembering that voice belonging to the young girl who had come to the capital to wed the prince years ago.

Sansa was overcome by her wanting to stay at this Inn, to never get back on horse or see other people again. She wanted to stay in this room forever. She craned her neck so that she could look him in the eye, and put her hand on the burned side of his face. Sandor flinched away instinctively.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered, and keeping so still he didn't even dare breathe, he allowed her to touch him.

"I want to stay here. Right here in this room."

"You need to get back to your family," he said, more gruff than he'd intended, and she lowered her eyes and dropped her hand. He cursed himself for being such an emotionally stunted fuck and grabbed her hand back.

"Seven hells, girl. I didn't mean…that. You know I fucking want you, but I can't have you."

"You can," she breathed, and looked up at him with wide eyes. "I don't want to go back to Winterfell."


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry I've been on a bit of a hiatus, but I'm back to writing! Thank you for your patience!

CHAPTER 7

"What the fuck do you mean you don't want to go back?" His voice was gruff with shock, and Sansa recoiled a bit before sitting up to look at him.

"My father is dead. If I go to Winterfell my mother will not be able to protect me; Joffrey and Cersei will find me and bring me back or kill me."

Sandor flinched at her words and Sansa took one of his large hands in both of hers.

"And no matter what I do," she continued softly, "I don't get you." She kissed his hand and before he had time to protest, she said, "you're kind; the only one who's been kind me. Besides, I cannot marry…now." She blushed and looked down.

Sandor closed his eyes but did not say anything for a long while, surprising the girl.

"What do you want to do then, little bird?" he asked finally, breaking the silence. Sansa looked up and frantically tried to come up with an idea.

"Braavos," she said, "or Dorne, perhaps." The big man barked a laugh.

"Braavos," he said, but his smile faded. "Alright." He said simply and Sansa once again looked at his ruined face that held no horror for her now.

"You'll come with me?" The Hound heaved an agitated sigh.

"For fuck's sake, girl. I'm not going to put you on a ship by yourself after I've ruined you."

They left the inn together, Sansa walking closely behind the Hound, her black cape swirling around her. People saw the big man but lost interest quickly. When they were outside, they went to the stables to fetch Stranger. As Sandor saddled the monster of a horse, Sansa felt brave enough to reach out and tentatively stroke his neck. The beast did nothing, ignored her even. The girl smiled to herself; perhaps she and the horse would one day get on.

Sandor finished saddling Stranger and came around to lift Sansa onto the saddle, his arms lingering on her waist longer than what was normal. Tentatively, the girl reached up to touch her lips to his. His eyes were shocked at first, but he relaxed after a moment, kissing her back quickly before hoisting her onto the huge animal and swinging up himself. She wrapped her arms securely around his ironclad waist before Stranger took off.

They reached a dock around midday, and Sansa saw many ships sailing into the port. _A trading post, _she thought to herself.

Without a word, Sandor swung down from the saddle and took Stranger's reigns in his hand, walking the beast over to where a sweaty man with sun-tanned skin was unloading crates. The man took one look at Sandor and wariness entered his eyes.

"What can I do for you, Ser?" he said, wiping one hand across his sweaty brow.

"I'm no Ser," the Hound barked, and Sansa winced at his venomous tone. "Do you know of any ships leaving to Braavos or Dorne?" The man thought for a moment.

"A merchant ship carrying spices leaves for Dorne in a few days, though I know of a ship leaving for Braavos within the day." Sandor nodded.

"Where can I find the captain of this ship?" The man pointed further down the dock to a big man with greasy black hair. Sandor nodded again and tossed a coin to the sweaty man. He walked Stranger down the dock and over to the greasy-haired man.

"Your ship travels to Braavos today?" Sandor asked gruffly and the man nodded in confirmation. "Do you have room for my wife and I? We're willing to pay."

The man looked at the girl on the horse and raised his eyebrows.

"Your wife is a fair woman, Ser. She is a welcome sight for sailors, too welcome, I think. Are you sure you want to put her on a ship?"

"Aye," the Hound said tensely, and Sansa saw him stiffen at the captain's words. The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Aye, I have an empty cabin then if you've the coin for it, but know that the waters to Braavos have a fair number of pirates."

Sandor nodded and tossed a purse of coins to the man, and he returned the nod in kind.

"Load up your beast and your woman, then. We leave within the day."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Every man on the ship stared openly at Sansa as they walked across the deck and she blushed, hoping Sandor didn't notice. He did, however, and she saw his clenched fists turning white. One sailor came to take Stranger, but the horse and Sandor's collective snarl sent him reeling backwards.

After they had loaded the beast they made their way to their cabin, the Hound yanking Sansa roughly into his side hoping to shield her from the roving eyes of the sailors. Once they had made it to the room, Sandor slammed the door shut with a force that made the girl jump. She looked back to see the big man dragging one large hand across his face.

"What is it, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed.

"I don't like it," Sandor snarled. "All these fucking eyes watching you like a piece of meat." Sansa relaxed and walked slowly over to where he stood.

"That's why I have you," she said quietly, taking his hand away from his face and holding it. His eyes softened looking at her angel's face.

"Even still, I don't want you walking around alone." After a moment she nodded and helped his remove his armor. The sun was beginning to set and the rocking motion of the ship had an oddly relaxing effect on the girl. She made her way to the bed that took up most of the small room and sat, closing her eyes and feeling herself rock in rhythm with the waves. After a while, she felt a warm hand brush her hair gently from her shoulder, and she leaned into it without opening her eyes.

She turned to look at him and found his eyes locked with hers. Tentatively, she reached out to touch his face, stroking it as softly as butterfly wings. Sandor closed his eyes and felt her warm, soft lips press against his. Softer than she'd thought him capable of being, he cradled her face and kissed her. He lay down on the bed and wrapped her in his big arms, holding her as she was rocked into sleep.

Sansa woke to darkness, a hand across her mouth and someone holding her arms. Her panic overwhelmed her and she bit down on the hand covering her mouth, shrieking when it disappeared. She heard a man's voice swear, but the grip on her arms did not lessen. She searched the dark room frantically for Sandor and saw him being held down by three men. He let out a great bellow and threw one of the men clear across the room. The others let out noises of alarm and Sansa heard the unmistakable sound of bones crunching and something that sounded like the scream of a wounded animal. The room was lit just enough for her to see the Hound head-butt the last of the upright assailants and watch him crumple to the ground noiselessly. In one stride he was across the room and suddenly Sansa was free. There was a definite thud and then his hands were on her arms.

She looked at him and saw blood running down his arm and dripping onto the floor.

"Are you hurt?" she gasped, frantically looking him over.

"Not my blood, little bird," he said, yanking his bloodstained tunic over his head. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head and he exhaled a pent up breath, gathering her against his huge, naked chest.

She was amazed; the whole scuffle had lasted about a minute or two, and in that time he'd been able to defeat four men single-handedly.

The fight seemed to have woken most of the ship, and Sansa felt herself being dragged up the stairs and onto the deck. In the darkness, she couldn't tell who all the assembled men were, but she saw one large, squat man and assumed it was the captain.

"Four of your fucking dogs attacked us," Sandor spat venomously at him. The dark figure shrugged.

"They wanted the girl no doubt. I warned you not to bring that woman with you," he said simply and Sansa knew Sandor would not contain his anger for very much longer.

"Speak to your sailors," he said in a dangerously low and calm voice, "or you'll soon have none." Sansa shuddered at his words, and the captain was quiet for a few long moments before nodding and muttering, "aye."

Sandor swept the girl back down below deck as she heard the captain faintly cursing at the crew. When they reached the room, the attackers were gone and Sansa sighed.

"Thank you," she said, placing her hands on his heaving chest. "You seem to be well versed in the practice of saving my life."

Without a word, Sandor's lips crashed down on hers, surprising her. He reached down and tore her thin shift right down the middle and off of her, and Sansa gasped before her lips were once more crushed by his. Sandor picked her up, squeezing her ass roughly and backing her against one of the wooden walls. He moved his mouth down across her neck and she gasped for breath. Without a word, two of his fingers were in her wet, dripping pussy and she all but screamed, and his other hand came up to cover her mouth. She screamed her pleasure into it as he continued to move his mouth down her body.

He took one of her nipples in his mouth as he pumped his fingers in and out of her and she closed her eyes and moaned into his hand. She was close and he knew it.

"Not yet, girl," he snarled and roughly threw her down onto the bed. He climbed over her, kicking off his breeches. His mouth trailed down her hot body until he reached her wet pussy.

He looked at her in a way that made her gasp, and then his tongue was inside her and she bit her lip to stop herself from screaming. It flicked in and out and she grabbed him by his hair, holding him there. He smiled, lapping at her.

His lips were back at hers then, and with one hand he held both of her arms above her head. Then his hard cock was in her and she did scream.

_I'm sure the whole damn ship can hear her screaming, _Sandor thought to himself and smiled viciously. _Good. Then they'll know I've fucking claimed her._

He slammed in and out of her with so much force that the bed shook, and she moaned his name, driving him crazy. A sudden burst of courage hit Sansa, and without really knowing what she was doing, she flipped them over so she was sitting on him. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto his huge cock and she moaned in pleasure. She began fucking him slowly and he threw his head back, groaning at the feeling of this girl riding his cock. She picked up speed as she figured out what to do and she rode him hard before he spilled his hot seed into her, moaning her name. She collapsed on top of him, both breathing harder than ever before.

"Fuck, girl," was all he managed.

"Yes," she agreed, before falling asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

When Sansa woke she was sore all over, but she smiled. She had never made love to Sandor in that manner before, and she knew now that he had been trying to be overly gentle with her before. She looked at the huge man next to her and smiled. He was still sleeping, and he looked more peaceful then he ever did when awake. Sansa played absentmindedly with a strand of his dark hair. His eyes opened and caught her hand, kissing the palm and then all of the fingertips.

"You were holding out on me," she said, blushing with the thought of how they had fucked last night. Sandor smiled with some amusement.

"I had to make sure you could handle it, I didn't want to break you in half." Sansa scoffed.

"Oh really," she said sarcastically. "You had to make sure I could handle it." A dangerous glint appeared in her eyes and Sandor chuckled.

"What are you going to do, g-" his breath caught and his teeth clenched as Sansa's lips were already around his hard cock. She sucked him hard, a hand massaging his balls at the same time. Sandor moaned, and the sound was low and animal. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of her red hair, guiding her head back and forth. Sansa smiled against his huge dick, swirling her tongue around it. He couldn't keep it together, he came into her mouth with a loud groan, and the Lady of Winterfell swallowed it all as he'd seen the whores do. She ran a hand across her lips and smiled angelically at him. Sandor barked out a laugh.

"You look very pleased with yourself," he said through gruff laughter.

"You don't need to be careful with me, I'm _not_ a child," she said seriously. Sandor looked her over, her big, perfect tits bouncing as her chest rose and fell, and resisted the urge to lick them. Her big blue eyes were serious.

"I can see that," he said softly, his dick still hard. He picked her up easily by her waist and laid her on her back. He kissed her lips softly, trailing his down her body and making her squirm. He pulled her legs apart and began using his tongue in ways Sansa couldn't imagine. She tangled her hands in his hair, holding his face against her and moaned like a whore. Sandor's tongue danced, flicking in and out of her in a dizzying rhythm. Sansa's head was spinning, and she thought she might pass out.

"I want you inside me," she moaned, taking one hand and holding it against the headboard for support.

"I don't take orders from you," he growled before hitting a spot that made her back arch. She came with a gasping scream and Sandor lapped at her, tasting all of her-she was so sweet. Her body was shaking but he wasn't finished with her.

"If I don't have to be careful with you then turn over," he snarled. She didn't move, so Sandor grabbed her roughly by the waist and flipped her over, so she was on her knees and he was looking at her perfect, round ass. He slapped her ass lightly a few times and she gasped before he drove all of his enormous cock into her tight cunt. He held onto her waist as he slammed into her again and again, making her cry out each time. He saw her tits bouncing and it only made him fuck her harder, harder then he'd ever fucked her before. He held her down as he fucked her like the dog he was for a long time, until he couldn't anymore and they both orgasmed together. Cum ran down Sansa's legs and she was shaking so hard she would have fallen if she had tried to stand. Red handprints were left on her sides and her whole body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Sandor pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her swollen lips.

"Well you definitely took me seriously," she said between gasps and the Hound laughed.

"You're mine now," he said, and stopped laughing, looking seriously into her eyes. "Only mine." He sucked and bit at her neck until a purplish bruise appeared. "Now people will know, or I'll kill them."

Sansa shuddered at the threat, but threw her arms around his neck. He had claimed her forever, and it felt good.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

"When was the first time you knew you cared for me?" Sansa was lying naked, curled into his side, her head on his chest. The Hound sighed at her words, knowing she enjoyed talking like this. She must know how talks like this pained him, but not answering her would make her anxious.

"I don't know," he began truthfully. "I remember the day the little shit King forced you to look at the head of your father." He felt the girl shudder and he brought her tighter to his side.

"While you walked with him he talked of putting a son in you and I didn't… I didn't like it. And then when that fucking knight struck you-I wanted to kill him right there, but I saw the determination in your eyes, how you would have killed that little shit if I hadn't stopped you."

Sansa remembered these things in vivid detail, no matter how much she tried to forget them. Her voice was hard when she said, "you shouldn't have stopped me."

"If I hadn't, your head would have a place next to your father's. But you asked, I merely told you my answer." The girl was used to his gruffness with these matters by now, they made him uncomfortable.

"I remember the first time I was worried for you, for your safety. It was at the tourney for my father. The Knight of Flowers unseated your brother and he tried to kill him, but you came to his rescue. I remember being so worried for you. I don't think I knew I cared for you- you frightened me actually." Sandor snorted.

"The Knight of Flowers. You should have married him, he would have given you a better life."

"I did fancy him at the time," Sansa admitted. "He was very handsome and kind, but I didn't love him."

"Love" Sandor's voice was rough and gravelly. "And do you love me now?" Sansa's head rose to look him in the eyes and her cheeks burned furiously.

"Of course I do. I would not have given myself to you if I didn't. " She kissed him softly and he let himself thaw for a moment.

"I do not know love, girl," he said softly, "but what I feel for you…it must be love, you are all I know, all I want."

A single tear fell and Sansa looked down, embarrassed. Sandor brushed the tear from her eye and chuckled gruffly.

"I'm so fucking bad at talking that I've made you cry." Sansa smiled and bit her lip.

"It sounded good to me," and she kissed him again, his strong arms around her, making her feel safer than she ever had.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

The weeks passed without another incident from the crew, and soon land could be seen.

"Look girl," Sandor said, pointing to a hazy shape in the distance. Sansa looked from where she stood next to him on the deck; she could faintly make out the legendary Titan of Braavos. As they drew closer, the figure became more and more impressive. Sansa felt a pang of uncertainty and drew her cloak around her shoulders tightly.

"Are you cold?" Sandor pulled her into his side and she was grateful, feeling his warmth and steadiness.

"I'm ready to be on land again," she said truthfully, remembering the bouts of dizziness and seasickness that had plagued her for most of the journey. "Northerners aren't meant to live on ships."

"Birds aren't meant for the water," he teased, kissing her lightly on the top of her head. She smiled at how light his spirit seemed to be, hoping it would last.

Sandor was as ready as the girl to get off the damned boat. Every time he turned around a man would be staring at her, and he felt himself going crazy. Luckily there had only been one incident during the trip, but he felt like locking the girl in the room and guarding the door, though he knew she'd be more than opposed to that. He wasn't sure what to do with her, though he knew their relationship couldn't very well continue as it was. She was, after all, a lady, no matter how much she tried to escape it. He'd never thought of himself as the marrying kind, there had never been anyone to marry, but with her it was different. He knew he shouldn't make her marry him, ruin her life that way, but she'd run away with him, said she loved him.

"Are you alright?" Sansa was looking up at him with anxious blue eyes and he knew there was only one path he could take. He did his best to clear his expression and he saw the girl relax. He kissed her forehead again.

"I'm fine little bird, don't trouble yourself."

At twilight the ship docked at Ragman's Harbor, and Sansa assumed it was a poorer part of town. It was dirty and noisy, and ragged-looking people scurried around like ants peddling their wares. There were beggars and meagerly clad children sitting in the street. Sansa hadn't ever seen a place like it, though she'd been told that much of King's Landing had been poor. She was ashamed that people lived this way when she'd always had fine clothes and food.

"Stay here, girl," Sandor barked, yanking her from her thoughts. She could see that he was on edge. They had few belongings, and she picked up what little she had and waited as he went and got Stranger.

She waited uncomfortably on the deck for him to return. Sailors passed her with hungry expressions, and she realized that none of them had had a woman in weeks. She did her best to put on a stoic expression, but she was anxious for Sandor to return.

He despised leaving her, even for that short time. He quickly went down the wooden stairs to where Stranger was being held and got him ready to disembark from the boat. When that black stallion was saddled, Sandor led him up the stairs and onto the deck. He saw Sansa standing with a forced look of confidence and chuckled inwardly. When she saw him she heaved a sigh of relief and her face morphed into a smile. He felt pride that he was what made her smile.

When the ship was tied, Sandor paid the captain and Sansa walked off the ship, Sandor leading Stranger behind him. They didn't blend in at all, and hungry looking people stared openly at them. Sandor pulled Sansa's hood over her unusual hair and lifted her onto Stranger's back. Wordlessly, Sandor led the horse through the busy, darkening streets until he reached what looked to the girl to be an inn.

When Stranger had been safely stowed in the stable, the pair made their way to their room. Sansa felt exhausted even though she'd been on a ship for weeks. She immediately sat down on the bed and yawned.

"I don't have the coin to continue like this," Sandor muttered. "I'll have to find work."

"I can work," Sansa said, trying to sound determined through an ill-timed yawn. Sandor chuckled.

"I'll not have you working, little bird. You're still a lady."

"I'm not. I'm no lady anymore, that life is gone," she said stoically and Sandor touched her face, her perfect white skin.

"Marry me." He said it without even realizing it, but there it was. He stared into her shocked blue eyes. "I cannot offer you anything, girl. You know this. I am nothing, but if you love me as you say, marry me."

"Yes," she said at once, without thinking. Tears welled in her eyes. "Yes," she said again, throwing her arms around his neck.

They lay in bed that night; Sansa curled up to Sandor, feeling his heat.

"Sandor," she said quietly. He didn't say anything but she knew he was listening.

"I wasn't sure how to tell you, wasn't sure you'd be happy, but now…" she trailed off and in the dark he couldn't read her face.

"What is it, girl?"

"I'm with child. A son, I think." Silence. After a few minutes, Sandor said,

"How do you know?"

"I know," she replied simply. "My mother used to tell me stories of what it was like to be pregnant, I know that's what it is." He was silent again.

"I shouldn't have said anything, I didn't know what you'd think." She began to move away from him but he caught her and pulled her as close as he could. A strand of her hair tickled his chin and she could feel his warm breath as he said almost silently,

"I am happy, Sansa." He kissed her and held her tightly, not letting any space come between them.


	12. Chapter 12

Author Note: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews! I'm never sure how far I'll take this story, so your comments really help! If you want me to keep going just let me know!

CHAPTER 12

"What job will you find?" Sansa asked as she flew around the room, picking up items of clothing and folding them, stacking them in neat piles.

"I've no trade other than killing," he replied gruffly, sitting on the bed and lacing up his boots. "I'll offer my services as a sell sword." Sansa's eyebrows knit together with plain worry.

"Are you sure? I don't want you putting yourself in danger." Sandor rose from the bed to stand towering over her, touching one big, rough hand to her cheek.

"It's all I know, little bird," he said softly and she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning into his calloused palm. "I'll be careful." She nodded and he was back to his boots. She was immediately sad to feel the pressure of his hand leave her skin.

While he was out that day, Sansa wandered downstairs, tired of sitting in the room alone. She met the innkeeper; a stout, dark little man with a pleasant looking face who was several inches shorter than her.

"Everything ok?" The man's Braavosi accent was very thick. He handed her a cup of wine as she nodded that she was well and had no complaints about her accommodations. A woman who looked almost the same as the man besides her skin being as white as Sansa's appeared then, carrying plates of meat and bread for the many inhabitants of the inn.

"My wife," the man said in his thick accent, gesturing proudly to the plump woman. After she'd served everyone, she came over to where they stood, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Hello," she said in an accent that was clearly from the south of the Seven Kingdoms. She smiled warmly but Sansa immediately felt fear.

"Are you from King's Landing?" Sansa asked, trying to suppress her anxiety.

"Oh yes," the woman said, eyes lighting up. "I was a midwife in Flea Bottom. Moved to the Free CIty what must've been 10 years ago now; I'm Coraine. Are you from the Seven Kingdoms?"

Sansa's whole body relaxed and she allowed a large smile to cross her face.

"I am. From Riverrun," she said, thinking this would be safest. "My husband and I just arrived. He's in the…trading business." She stumbled over the last part, trying to quickly reason why they would have come to Braavos, but the woman seemed to not pick up on the lie. She smiled again at Sansa and the girl shifted nervously, searching for a safe topic.

"It's fortunate I met you; my husband and I are expecting a child and I know no midwives." The woman's smile broadened.

"You must stay here then," she concluded. "Would you like to work here with me? We always need help and it would be good to have another woman around. I can help you with matters of babies and you won't be lonely without your husband."

Sansa admitted to herself that the offer was a good one, though she had never worked a day in her life. She could not just sit and worry all day, waiting for Sandor to return.

"I am grateful for the offer, and I accept," she said, a little too formally, she reprimanded herself.

The day was spent with her learning how to serve the men that came to drink at the tavern or stay in the inn, and while their wandering eyes often strayed towards her, Coraine's disapproving looks kept them from causing any trouble. The work wasn't extremely hard or taxing, but when the sun began to set and Coraine dismissed her, her feet were tired.

Sandor wasn't back yet and Sansa collapsed onto the bed, grateful for her new position and friend.

When Sandor returned he found the girl already sleeping, red hair wildly spread around her like a spray of molten copper. His lip twitched with a smile; he hated to wake her while she was so peaceful. He sat down on the bed and rubbed her back lightly until she woke, yawning and disoriented.

"When did you get back?" she said, yawning into her hand.

"Just now," he said, drinking in the sight of her. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and leaned to kiss him softly on his good cheek. The feeling thawed him out, softened him from the day without her.

"I'm glad you're back," she said, and he kissed her forehead.

"We must go," he said after a moment. Fear mixed with anxiety clouded her thoughts and he could see it in her eyes.

"No, girl. I just meant I want to marry you."

Sansa choked in shock and coughed several times. Sandor's face looked both bewildered and annoyed.

"I didn't know you meant this soon," she gasped when she could breathe.

"We tell people we are man and wife. It will be so before you begin to show."

His face was solemn and Sansa tried to match his expression.

"There is a man in the village who can perform the ceremony, but we must go now."

"Now?" she sputtered. "But I'm not dressed, I cannot possibly-"

"Seven hells, girl!" Sandor said in exasperation. "You look fine, now we must go!" He took her hand and dragged her from the room as she protested.

There was something of a small forest in this part of Braavos, nothing like in the Godswood in the north, just a patch of trees that they made their way into. She saw the man as they approached him, standing under the biggest tree. It wasn't a Weirwood tree as she'd hoped, but she hadn't thought they would have such trees in the Free Cities.

The man was tall and dark with nicer clothes than that she'd yet seen in the city. He had unruly curls and it was impossible to tell his age. When he spoke, his voice was deep with a thick Braavosi accent.

As he performed the ceremony, Sansa couldn't help shaking. This wasn't at all how she'd imagined her life would go; fleeing her homeland and taking the Hound as her lord husband. She closed her eyes and willed herself to still her shaking limbs. She felt a huge hand, warm and calloused slip into hers and she calmed considerably. She opened her eyes and heard the words,

"In the sign of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

Sansa instantly realized it was a ceremony of the Seven Kingdoms. She wasn't sure exactly what she'd been expecting; perhaps full immersion into the culture of their new home, but a wave of fresh gratitude washed over her. With renewed confidence she turned to Sandor.

He looked at her and saw no regret or misgiving in her eyes. They were as bright as the stars and he knew he had done the right thing by procuring vows of the north. She was wearing the same dress she'd had on for weeks, now stained and ripped, her hair a wild mane around her, and he thought she'd never looked so beautiful.

"_Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days." _His voice was strong and steady, and she marveled at him saying the words.

"_Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days."_ Her voice was strong, though it quavered towards the end as her eyes began to brim with tears.

Sandor wrapped his cloak around her as she smiled through her now flowing tears and they were married in the sight of the old gods and the new.


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews, remember to leave a comment if you enjoy the story as it really helps me to get your feedback! Enjoy!

CHAPTER 13

The next few weeks passed in a familiar routine for Sansa. Every morning Sandor would get up, trying not to wake her, though she always rose with him. She would help him don his armor in silence; worrying about what unspeakable things he would be doing during the long hours away from her. She never voiced her concerns, not since that first night, knowing he would not take her seriously. Once dressed, he would kiss her, placing a hand on her rapidly swelling stomach before leaving.

Once he was gone, she would go downstairs and help Coraine serve the patrons of the inn. She'd given the woman a fake name, Luanne, to avoid suspicion. Navigating the tables was becoming increasingly more difficult now that her stomach overshadowed her feet. Her same dress now stretched uncomfortably across her middle, and she could no longer lace her corset. She regretted the day that she'd no longer be able to work.

On this morning, she was making pleasant conversation with a table of dark, loud men, pouring them wine and laughing at a rather inappropriate joke they had made.

When she returned to the kitchen, Coraine called for her by her alias and pulled her aside to a small alcove with a table.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" she asked sincerely, placing a gentle hand on Sansa's belly. She smiled at the kindly woman.

"Well," she replied almost truthfully. "The sickness is…unpleasant. But not bleeding is well received." The woman smiled.

"I made you this," she pulled what seemed to be a piece of cloth from the table and unfurled it. "It's nothing fancy, but you cannot wear that gown for much longer."

The cloth was a dress, Sansa realized. It was deep blue, a popular color for women to wear in Braavos. As she'd said, it was very simple, made of inexpensive material and sewn only mediocrely. Tears welled in her eyes at this simple gesture of friendship, and she blamed it on her constant mood swings.

"Thank you. Truly," she said, taking the dress from Coraine and holding it up. There was a substantial amount of room in the midsection, allowing her room to grow in the coming months.

"You're already showing quite a bit, and it's only been a few months. Hopefully this will fit up until the end."

She was in their room that night after Coraine had let her go, holding up the dress to her body when the door flew open.

"You'll never believe-" she started, turning. When she saw him standing in the doorway, covered in blood, she dropped to the floor, unconscious.

"Fucking hell," Sandor bellowed, rushing into the room to where she'd fallen on the floor. She'd dropped on her side; that was good he thought. He didn't know much about pregnancy, but he knew enough to know that falling on her front would have been bad. He brushed her hair from her face and saw her eyes were shut tight. He shook her lightly.

"Sansa," he whispered, but she did not wake. "Come on, girl," he said gruffly. He looked around the room frantically and saw the tub was already full of hot water; she must have been planning on bathing.

Gently and with clumsy, bloodstained fingers, he unlaced the back of her dress and pulled it gingerly off of her. He couldn't help but stare for a moment. He'd been so scared of hurting her since she told him of the child that they'd not been as close as in the past, and he'd been unaware of her bodily changes.

Her stomach jutted out from her small frame, making her look alien. Her skin was smooth and milky, but looked stretched at the impossibility of covering her swollen belly. He thought her pregnancy seemed rapid, but what did he know of such things.

She seemed even more fragile in this state, he realized in dismay; he hadn't thought she could ever seem more breakable.

Picking her up effortlessly, he eased her into the big tub. He began washing her arms with a rag, noting how unblemished her creamy skin was. He noticed then the bloodstains on his own skin and realization of her fainting spell dawned on him. _Silly girl must've thought I was dying_.

He quickly undressed and joined his unconscious wife in the tub, barely fitting. He scrubbed the blood from his body until his skin was raw and the water had a faint pink hue to it. He then continued washing the girl, lifting her head to clean her neck.

He tried not to get too much pleasure out of washing her breasts, now swollen and huge. He reprimanded himself, knowing her being unconscious was not the time to lust after her.

Slowly, Sansa's eyes opened, blinking rapidly as she tried to piece together where she was and what was happening. The feeling of water startled her and she looked frantically for Sandor, relieved when she saw him sitting so close. She remembered blood and her brow knit together.

"You. I saw so much blood," she struggled to form the coherent thought.

"Not mine, little bird," he said softly, relieved that she was alright. "You scared the piss right outta me," he scolded her, sounding harsher than he meant to.

"I could say the same," she snapped back, working hard to manage a chiding tone. He barked out a laugh, but she could see he was relieved. She put a hand on his face.

"I was worried," she said, her tone changing curiously. He nodded though he was slightly annoyed by how little faith she had in him.

"I'm glad you're well, wife," he said, leaning into her warm, soft palm. She sighed at that, feeling worlds better.

"I could feel your hands on me," she said, leaning to whisper huskily in his ear. "I knew I must wake." Without warning, he was hard and aching for her hot cunt. She placed his hand on one of her breasts and bit her lip, making him wild. "They're so sensitive now," she whined and the sound made him groan internally.

He bent his head to kiss her neck, sucking on it as he massaged her breast. Sansa couldn't help the moans that came out of her; she'd never thought his touches could feel better but in this state it was like nothing she'd ever experienced. When he bit down on her collarbone she screamed, before clapping a hand over her mouth and giggling like a child. Sandor smiled at that.

While he pinched the nipple of one breast, he began sucking on the other. She tipped her head back, eyes closing at the feeling, keeping her hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. He whole-heartedly regretted these many weeks of abstinence when he'd been too afraid to touch her- he had no idea she needed it as badly as he did.

Water swirled around them as Sandor moved down, placing gentle hands on her stomach before kissing it and continuing his journey down with his fingers, until he found what he really wanted.

He slid one cautious finger slowly into her and all her attempts to muffle her screams did her no good. He smiled, drunk on her reaction and added his middle finger. He curled his fingers inside her, stretching her and making her ready. When his huge, hard cock found its way inside her Sansa thought she would surely pass out again. She was seeing stars and her head was spinning as he drove into her.

He pumped in and out of her, much more gently than he would have liked, but it soothed his aching cock. He held her body as she rode him, making sure she didn't get jostled too much. He moaned like an animal when he came, and she matched him with a scream, and he hoped the walls somewhat masked sound. She panted with the exertion and said,

"Unfortunately I don't think I got very clean." Sandor snorted and stood up, showering the room with water drops. He got out of the tub and toweled off and set another towel on the bed. He gently lifted her out of the bath and set her on the towel, much to her displeasure.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," she said indignantly and he snorted again.

"May as well be," he muttered, drying her off. When she was sufficiently dry she stood, wobbling a little, and found her nightdress, yanking it over her head. Sandor noticed how the material pulled and strained at her stomach and felt proud, knowing it was his child that he'd put in her.

"What?" Sansa asked testily, feeling his eyes on her. Her hands were on her hips in an instant, and she looked at him challengingly.

"Strange feeling," he muttered and she raised an eyebrow. "I've never fucked a pregnant woman before." Sansa stared at him, shocked for a moment. When it wore off she grabbed her hairbrush from her nightstand table and lobbed it at his head. He deflected it easily, shaking with laughter. Before she found something else to throw at him he got up and took both of her wrists in his hands, ignoring her pitiful attempts to fight back. His tone turned serious.

"There's nothing I love more in this whole fucking world than you, do you know that?" Her eyes softened and she nodded.

"You'll have to share some of that love when he comes," she crooned, looking at her stomach. Sandor nodded and kissed her belly before kissing her lips.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Weeks passed in rapid succession and soon they became months. Sansa could no longer see her feet and she walked in a way that Sandor lovingly referred to as looking like a drunken duck. She could no longer work, and spent the majority of her time in the room with Corraine checking on her regularly.

Sandor's reputation as a truly terrifying sell-word was quickly spreading to his dismay, and he worried that tales of a man who could only be the Hound would reach the capital. He tried not to show his worry to Sansa, but she knew something was wrong.

He paced across the room like an angry dog, Sansa sitting on the bed holding her enormous stomach.

"What is it?" she asked, fear invading her tone in a way he hated. He shook his head.

"It's nothing," he said, trying to make his voice sound reassuring but she raised an eyebrow. He ran a hand across his tired face. "Stories of my…work," he looked carefully at her when he said that, gaging her reaction. Her face didn't change and he continued. "Are getting around, I don't want them getting back to King's Landing." Sansa's eyebrows knit together.

"We're so far away now, do you really think they'd come all this way for you?"

"For me? No," he scoffed. "But for you…" his voice trailed off and he walked to where she sat, sitting next to her and running a gentle had down her face. "That little shit would do anything to get you back," he spat in disgust. Sansa chuckled without humor.

"Joffrey hated me, he doesn't want me back."

"He has to make a point, little bird. Find you, and kill you. I won't let it happen, but if people start taking these stories with them across the water…"

"Then you must stop," she said adamantly. Sandor barked out a laugh, getting up to continue pacing.

"And do what? I must work and I have only one skill."

"I didn't like it to begin with, be a farmer, a sailor, anything!" Her voice was insistent. "I will not bring our son into danger!" He could see her getting worked up, this was exactly why he didn't want to fucking tell her. He rushed back to where she sat, kneeling in front of her and taking one of her hands.

"It'll be fine, girl," he kissed her hands softly and she exhaled, stroking his matted hair. Suddenly she hissed, her hands flying to her stomach.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Sandor's voice was permeated with worry but Sansa smiled after a moment. She moved one of his big hands across her swollen stomach and he felt it jut out. His eyes met her tired-looking ones and she smiled again.

"He likes your voice, he wants out so he can meet his father." The corners of Sandor's mouth twitched slightly, and he leaned down to kiss her stomach before he found her lips and kissed her deeply.

His mouth was like a drug to her, and she put her hands on the sides of his face to keep him there. After a moment he chuckled into her mouth and gently removed her hands.

"He's wearing you out, you're too weak, my love," he whispered.

"I'm not," she said, panting. "He's just strong, like his father." Sandor smiled but Sansa was serious. "I need you," she whined. He was immediately hard, and he jumped away from her, turning his back and growling like a caged dog.

"No, Sansa," he said harshly, keeping his back turned so he couldn't see her eyes. She stood up and quickly stripped off her nightgown, leaving her naked. The room was cold and the hairs on her arms stood up.

"Corraine said it's alright; that it's good. I'm fine, I swear." Sandor slowly turned around to see her standing naked and a strangled noise escaped him.

She stood, her midsection its own planet; her time must be close. Her breasts were huge and swollen and the sight of them made his cock strain against his breeches. He didn't want to hurt her but he couldn't stay away.

He slowly stripped off his clothing and carefully, he took one of her breasts in his hand; it almost didn't fit now that it was so large. Her breathing caught when he touched her, and when he began kneading her breast she threw her hand in her mouth to keep from screaming. With his other hand he straight away put two huge fingers inside her, pumping in and out gently. She thought her head would explode with the feeling; all of her senses were more heightened then she could've imagined.

When he pulled his fingers out of her, he put them in his mouth, tasting every part of her. Before she could recover his head was already by her legs and she felt his hot breath where she needed him to be. The knowledge of him there made her thighs wet. Sandor smiled knowing that he didn't even have to do anything to make her pussy wet. He flicked his tongue in and out of her hot cunt, lapping up all of her juices. She could stop her scream when his tongue swirled inside of her, and she came for him.

With lust clouding her vision, she took his hand and led him to the bed where she sat. With Sandor standing in front of her, she took his huge cock in her mouth and started sucking him off.

She licked his balls and sucked his dick hard, pumping him with her hand. He threw his head back, trying not to groan. Before he got too close to release, he moved her hand away and spat on his dick before positioning it in between her huge tits. She held them together as he thrust hard again and again, simulating the feeling of her tight cunt, dripping for him. Sansa moaned at the feeling and Sandor was breathing hard. When he finally came, he groaned low and loud before spilling his seed all over her tits.

Sandor collapsed next to her and sighed contentedly.

"Told you I was fine," she said teasingly. He chuckled and kissed her shoulder. "I can't wait for this baby to be out of me so you can fuck me as hard as you can." Sandor's eyes widened, it was unusual for her to use such language.

"I can't wait for that either," he said, turning her face to his so he could kiss her.

They fell asleep there, naked and exhausted. It was still dark when Sansa woke suddenly. Her thighs were wet and she could feel that the bed was damp. She shook Sandor awake.

"For fuck sake, girl, what the bloody hell is it?" he groaned, putting a pillow over his face.

"Sandor, it's time."


End file.
